The Very Nice Box

by Eve Gleichman

  Then the video panned over the cars before stopping on Mat. He stood beside a blue sedan. Her father’s car. He pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket and shimmied open the gas flap. He took a handful of something from his pocket and dropped it quickly into the tank through a funnel. He closed the cap, threw the funnel in the garbage, approached the Simple Tower, and disappeared from view.

  Jaime’s voice sprang back. I mean, they’re criminals!

  She was numb. The volume of the party had increased, and a man’s voice erupted through a distant speaker:

  When I say Very, you say Nice!

  Very!

  Nice!

  I’m gonna need y’all to turn it up, STÄDA! I said, when I say Very, you say Nice!

  Very!

  Nice! The crowd jubilantly obeyed.

  Ava texted Jaime. I need to talk to you. Are you here?

  But she knew he would probably skip the party, given that Ava was being celebrated.

  She signed onto S-Chat Mobile to try him again, but his name was grayed out. She sent another text.

  Please.

  You were right about Mat

  Please come

  You can gloat all you want

  Her mind spun. She rapidly messaged her SHRNK. I need help.

  The familiar ellipsis appeared. Are you safe? her SHRNK wrote. Where are you?

  In the printer room at STÄDA. I don’t know what to do.

  Take a deep breath, her SHRNK wrote. Can you tell me what’s going on? I can order emergency services.

  Mat was the driver, Ava wrote.

  What driver?

  He was driving the other car. From the accident.

  Another ellipsis appeared and stuck on the screen. Ava fired off her messages in quick succession.

  Don’t ask me how I know

  I just do

  She heard the faint ping of a phone down the hallway.

  I asked Jaime for help but he isn’t responding

  Another ping, this time a little louder.

  I’m alone

  Ping! Now the sound was very close.

  She looked up from her phone, desperate to see Jaime, but instead there he was. Mat. He loomed over her with a look like something behind his eyes had tilted ever so slightly off-balance.

  He slipped his phone into his front pocket. “You’re not alone, Lamby,” he said, using air quotes around the word alone. “You have me.”

  46

  The safety instructions on the back of all STÄDA products listed a series of warnings. Don’t substitute generic hardware for STÄDA hardware or else the Quiet Bedside Table may collapse; don’t overtighten the handle of the Divine Drawer or else its face may snap; don’t install the drawers of the Frank Dresser in the wrong order or else it may become top-heavy. Ava knew this scenario was no different: don’t confront a fragile, manipulative man with his own crimes or else he may kill you.

  She spoke quietly. “I know I have you.”

  But it was too late for him to restabilize, she could see. Something inside him had ruptured. The image that came to mind was of STÄDA’s stress-tester applying 350 pounds of force to the Encouraging Desk Chair, just enough weight to bend its back left leg at a ninety-degree angle.

  Ava heard the cheeping sound of rubber sneakers on polished concrete. Jaime, she thought. Please be Jaime.

  It was Owen. “Eyyyy, Mat! Long time no see! What’s up, bro? What the hell are you two doing in the printer room?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Or do I not want to know?” He gave Mat the two-handed shake Ava now recognized as the Good Guys greeting.

  “Hey, man!” Mat said, his demeanor instantly switching to the Mat Putnam she knew—cordial, fluent, confident. “Actually, man, I’m working on Book Six of the Good Guide.”

  Owen raised his eyebrows. “Oh, bro, that’s important. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll leave you two alone.” He winked and gave Mat a hearty pat on the back.

  “Wait,” Ava said, but Owen was already walking off.

  “Just like we talked about, man!” he called over his shoulder.

  Ava recognized the moment as an opportunity to leave, and she took it as quickly as she could, slipping by Mat, into the hallway, skirting past Owen.

  “Ava! Wait! I think you’re really going to want to hear him out!” Owen called after her. “We’ve been helping him workshop it!”

  She didn’t look behind her. Floor 12 glowed with string lights and buzzed with engineers, marketers, Spirit staffers, and technical writers. They drank from Pleasing Water Glasses engraved with the first Very Nice Box prototype sketch. A jumbo screen announced the drink menu for the evening: Very Nice Punch, Very Nice Pils, Very Nice Merlot, Very Nice Pinot.

  One of the projector screens played, at super-speed, an endless stream of Very Nice Boxes moving through the warehouse’s production line like soldiers. Another displayed Ava’s employee photo. A third announced that evening’s activities, including a competition to see who could build a Very Nice Box fastest without a manual, and a Pin the Hinge on the Lid station with a stock option for the winner. Ava searched for Jaime. She felt like she was moving through sand.

  Book Six of the Good Guide. What was Book Six? Something about forgiveness? Superheroes? Little girls? She didn’t have time to ruminate. She saw Mat appear near the elevator bank and quickly shouldered her way through the crowd. She scanned the room, trying to locate the single point that was both farthest from him and closest to the exit.

  “Ava! You’re like a celebrity!” a Spirit staffer said, blocking her view. It was Lexi, the woman who had first introduced Ava to Mat. She handed Ava a bright blue drink.

  “Thanks,” Ava said, taking it and searching for a surface on which she could abandon it.

  “Can Spirit grab you for a quick interview for the STÄDA newsletter?” Lexi said. “It’ll only take two seconds. We could probably do it in the Imagination R—”

  “No,” Ava said. “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Ava!” A hand landed on her shoulder and she spun around. Sofia. “Congratulations,” she said. “To both of us.” She wore a red jumpsuit with the Very Nice Box screen-printed on it. “Look, I know we’ve had our disagreements, but let me just say, I’m really proud of us. We’re basically a Marketing and Engineering power couple. And from one badass to another, I really think—”

  “It’s okay,” Ava said quickly. “Do you mind taking this?”

  She handed Sofia her drink and pushed her way past a throng of Spirit staffers into the Sweet Kitchen, which had been transformed into a full-blown dessert bar, overflowing with Very Nice Box–shaped marshmallow bars, brownies, and cakes, plus colored mints that matched each of the personality types.

  Helen Gross stood alone, draining the remains of a Cheerful Pint. “Ava,” she said, gently swaying. She had taken her hair out of its usual bushy ponytail. The ringlets looked somehow both greasy and crunchy. A roll of raffle tickets bulged from inside the breast pocket of her brownish green silk shirt. “Do you want a ticket?” she said. “They’re free if you agree to do a Spirit survey.” She hiccuped once.

  “No,” Ava said, eyeing Helen’s Cheerful Pint. “Walk with me to the elevators? I think I left something in the car.” She kept her eye on Mat, who was midconversation with a Marketing rep near the elevators. Beneath Mat’s affable expression was the body language of someone being held hostage. If Ava had Helen with her, she could get into an elevator and escape. She was sure of it.

  Helen appeared both surprised and elated that Ava wanted to spend any time with her at all. “I would like to try the piñata first,” she said, too loudly. “Will you do that with me?”

  Ava glanced back at the elevators. Owen and a group of three men in red Solstice T-shirts had joined the conversation. Mat exchanged a Good Guys handshake with each of the men but kept his gaze on Ava. Her stomach lurched. “Oh,” she said quickly. “I’m sure there’s someone here who could do that with you.”

  “Just one try,” Helen said. She was slu
rring slightly, and took Ava by the elbow to the center of the room, where the hot-pink Very Nice Box–shaped piñata hung from the ceiling. A line of employees was forming for a chance to hit it.

  “VIP coming through!” Helen called, dragging Ava. “Excuse us!”

  “Please, no,” Ava whispered. She forced herself to smile at the various interns who stepped out of the way as Helen pulled her forward.

  Someone handed Ava a blindfold, which Helen took from her hand. “You first!”

  “No,” Ava said, ducking away from the blindfold. The people in line had begun chanting her name. “Please, no,” she rasped. She could feel Mat watching her from across the room. She could feel the seatbelt cutting into her throat. A piece of glass in her side—

  “Don’t be shy, Ava!” Helen said, hiccuping again, while someone wrapped a blindfold across Ava’s eyes. “It’s okay to cut the line when you’re the star!”

  There was no up, there was no down. Left was right, north was west, across was under. She was suddenly holding a plastic bat. There were hands on her shoulders; someone had begun turning her in circles. “Please,” Ava said. But the commotion was too loud; her voice couldn’t cut through it. The sound dulled into an unintelligible slur, yielding to something else: the wailing of sirens. Her father’s name.

  “Swing!” Helen called. Ava swung, hitting nothing.

  The crowd reacted. “Not even close!” someone yelled.

  Ava felt in the dark for a surface to lean against.

  “Try this.”

  It was Mat’s voice. She felt him behind her. His voice was calm. His breath was minty. He placed his hands on top of hers and rotated her in a new direction.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said.

  “Just trust me,” he said.

  She wrestled herself free, tearing off the bandanna.

  “I’m trying to help you!” he said angrily. He smiled good-­naturedly at Helen and the line of interns. “Little disagreement we’re working out,” he said, running one hand through his hair, the other hand holding the bat.

  “Get away from me,” Ava said, her head exploding with pain, and in the same moment Lexi from Spirit was back, tapping Ava’s shoulder.

  “Just thirty seconds with Spirit? I know you don’t love to be the center of attention. We’re just looking for a quick sound bite and then we’ll let you go.” She tugged Ava away from the piñata, away from Mat, past a crowd that had gathered to watch Very Nice Box trivia unfold.

  A recording of Sofia’s voice played over the speakers: How many prototypes did the Very Nice Box go through before the final design went into production? How many bolts are required to build the Very Nice Box? Which of the following props was not used in our marketing campaigns for the Very Nice Box?

  Ava searched the room for Jaime as she followed Lexi past the basketball hoop, through the atrium, past the silent dance floor, where a psychedelic image of the Very Nice Box flashed against the wall.

  “Ava! Dance with us!” It was a junior technical writer whom Ava vaguely recognized from her work on the Very Nice Box’s user manual. She grabbed Ava’s hand.

  “She can’t,” Lexi said impatiently. “I need her for an interview.”

  “I don’t dance,” Ava said, pulling her hand free.

  “Live a little.” This time it was a man’s voice. She spun around. Owen held out his hand to her.

  “I have to go,” she said, stepping out of his way. She nearly crashed into Mat. Her heart stuttered.

  “Look who it is,” he said. “So slippery tonight!” His smile was cold. He pulled Ava close, squeezing her ribs. The more she attempted to free herself from his grip, the more his fingers tightened against her.

  “Sorry, but I really need to steal her,” Lexi said, her face reddening. “It’ll just take a sec and then I’ll bring her right back to you!”

  Ava could feel her breath pushing against Mat’s fingertips. He pulled her closer to him before readjusting his grip. She glanced again at the elevators, which seemed impossibly far.

  One of them opened. Jaime stepped out. He rocked onto his toes and peered around.

  “Jaime,” Ava said, not loud enough.

  “What did you say?” Mat said, bending to listen so that his ear was next to Ava’s mouth.

  Jaime caught her eye.

  Ava’s heart leapt.

  Jaime stared at her—at Mat’s arm around her waist, at Mat’s head bent to her lips. He narrowed his eyes and turned on his heel.

  No, Ava thought. She’d have to catch up to him. She’d have to explain. “I’m getting cold feet,” she said to Lexi. “I get stage fright. I’m sorry. I have to go. Let go of me,” she said to Mat, prying his fingers away.

  “Whoa!” Mat said, smiling. “Relax!”

  “We’ll make everything comfortable for you—” Lexi started, but Ava had already torn herself away, preparing to deliver all the information to Jaime as efficiently as possible. Mat Putnam had been driving the car. Mat Putnam had infiltrated her life. Mat Putnam was not letting her out of his sight. She needed an escape plan.

  She cut her way through the Wellness Kitchen, where she had a clear view of the elevators. No sign of Jaime. The lights dimmed and the music blasted. The emcee began announcing a first round of raffle winners. “Looks like Sofia Alvarez has a Caribbean adventure in her future!” he boomed.

  A crowd of marketers cheered as Sofia shimmied her way up to the emcee.

  Ava spun around, searching for Jaime, but he was nowhere. She reached into her pocket for her phone.

  “Ava!” It was Mat. He pushed the emcee out of his way.

  “Whoops! Sorry about that man,” the emcee said into the mic. “Mat Putnam, everyone!”

  There was a chorus of cheers. Ava’s jaw tightened. She was being stalked in plain sight by a man who was beloved.

  She beelined to the elevators and pushed the button repeatedly. “Come on,” she whispered. The numbers crawled up from Floor 1. She assembled a plan. She would go directly home in a Swyft, get Brutus, and leave the city on a train. She would figure out where to stay later. Where was the elevator? She hit the button again. It was stuck on Floor 3. When she glanced back at the party, she found herself face-to-face with him.

  The burned sugar. The shattered glass.

  “Lamby,” he said. “Come on. This is silly.”

  She flung open the door to the stairs.

  “Ava!” he hollered from the top of the stairwell. His voice echoed down the chute. She was running now, and so was he, skipping every couple of steps, getting closer, the toes of his boots scuffing the concrete, the sound growing closer.

  47

  Instinctively Ava cut out at Floor 2 and quickly made her way down the service steps that led to the shipping warehouse. The automated systems she had seen during her tour were in full swing, but the room was empty aside from hundreds of Very Nice Boxes.

  Industrial fans spun above the iron rafters. It smelled like sawdust. A labyrinth of conveyor belts connected different stations. On the east side Ava spotted a stack of precut panels in a repeating order: the Very Nice Box’s sides and lids. Every few seconds a new piece dropped onto the belt and glided along. At the next station a machine attached hardware to each box at a fast, rhythmic speed. The boxes were fitted and pulled along a belt, out of the warehouse through a wall of thick rubber flaps.

  A door opened. She slipped behind the stack of panels. The lid of a Very Nice Box dropped onto the belt beside her.

  “Ava?” Mat called, his voice cutting through the din of the machinery.

  She held her breath. She imagined a screw tightening. She imagined the ratio of a golden rectangle. She closed her eyes.

  “Lamby,” he called, “where are you? Are you hiding?” His voice had gotten close, and she opened an eye to find him crouching in front of her. “C’mon, what are we, Tom and Jerry?”

  “What do you want?” she said, although she did not want to hear the answer.

  His towering height,
his confidence, his humor: all of it was menacing now. Her coin had flipped, as her SHRNK would say. No, as Mat would say. He had reached every corner of her mind. Her insecurities, her fear, her grief, were all his. She felt the beam of light in her face. She was overcome with vertigo.

  “Easy!” he said cheerfully. “I want you to come with me, out of this ridiculous warehouse, so I can explain all this to you. I know how it looks, but—”

  “No,” Ava said. She walked backward, away from him, following the steel belt.

  He patted down the hair on the back of his head furiously. “Ava, please,” he said, walking toward her. His voice had softened. He sounded purely sad, and even now the sadness tugged at her.

  But she knew better, and retreated further into the warehouse, running beside the roller belt that carried the disassembled panels. The sides of the boxes ran under a bridge of machinery that dropped small birch pegs with rounded edges and a soapy finish into the predrilled holes.

  Mat was close behind. “All these misunder standings,” he said, ducking beneath a piece of machinery. He chuckled patiently, as though he were arguing with a toddler.

  “You can’t rebrand lies, Mat. You don’t get to do that.”

  Ava could see it clearly now: Mat’s lies stacked together like Cozy Nesting Tables. Under each layer was a different, darker crime. The scheme was infinite.

  She searched the warehouse for an exit. Dead ends crowded her—a concrete wall, two roller belts, and Mat, who would be impossible to slip past. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  “All I’ve done is help you.”

  “You—If it weren’t for you, I’d still have my family. I’d still have Andie!”

  She ducked under the belt and came up on the other side. Mat’s agitation was palpable. Components of the Very Nice Box glided steadily between them.

  “It was an accident, Ava,” he said, slamming a fist against the belt. “I’m sure you’ve made mistakes too. I was just a kid, and it took me an entire year to get out of bed and face what I’d done after I saw the news. And I got hurt too, okay?” He pulled up his T-shirt to reveal the scar along his ribs.